Blue Plate Special
by Rose Eclipse
Summary: At Shapiro's Diner you can get more than what you paid for.
1. Chapter 1

Author's disclaim: Tarantino owns "Inglorious Bastards" and all of the original characters. Eli Roth owns the Bear Jew's baseball bat.

A-A-A

_"Once Upon a Time in 1930's Boston..."_

It was bitterly cold outside and clumps of snow were coming down faster and faster until a thick wet blanket of white had cloaked the streets of Boston. While some folks toiled with shovels to dig paths outside their doors, others stepped through slushy puddles and tightly clung to their scarves and hats lest another strong gust of wind blow them away. All the other stores on the block were locked up that Saturday night, save for the neon green lights which blazed SHAPIRO'S DINER loud and clear. It was a beacon of light for all exhausted passerbys who noticed the restaurant was open and could come inside to take refugee from the snowstorm and order a bite to eat.

If they were daring enough to cross the street and pry open the heavy front door, they'd find themselves in a busy room that swirled with action and commotion. The fragrance of bread baking in the ovens, the sound of plates and silverware clattering noisily against each other, customers and service boys trying to talk louder than one another, and the background humming of a radio broadcasting between _The Shadow_ and Bing Crosby were all a usual routine in the diner.

Ruth Shapiro, one of the bread-winners (if not bread-bakers) of the family diner, had anticipated calling it an early night if the foul weather could keep willing customers at home. She knew more customers meant good business but Ruth wanted to spend her evening curled up on the old sofa at home with a mug of tea and library book. Instead, she found herself up to her neck in work that she usually didn't mind attending to but damn and double damn-no Jane Eyre and Thornfield Hall for her tonight!

With her brown hair quickly whisked out of the way into a braid and a big white apron covering her sweater, Ruth worked frantically to feed the ongoing stream of customers who poured into their diner. Her cheeks glowed red with enthusiasm and her brow fanned with sweat as she turned over pieces of fried chicken in a vat before whirling on a pot of bubbling tomato soup.

The door separating the main dining room from the kitchen quickly clattered shut. "Gimme two potato salads and a brisket sandwich—hold the onions!" The words flew out of Shalom's mouth breathlessly before he slapped the written order down on the counter for Ruth to read. Then he dashed out again to take the next batch of orders.

Gathering up several filled plates, Ruth carried the enormous steel tray out the door and began depositing requests on various tables. Her last plate took her to the seat of a small robust woman with a coif of white hair under a brown wide-brimmed hat. She wore several gold chains around her neck, numerous rings on her fingers, and Ruth's nose could detect a particular brand of perfume coming off the woman's body even with the aromas of various foods swirling around them.

_For crying out loud_, Ruth thought in disdain. _When it rains, it pours. When it snows, it storms. _She braced herself to face Mrs. Goldstein, the local matchmaker of Boston.

Mrs. Goldstein had the noblest intentions for all the eligible young men and (especially) women in the community but sometimes Ruth felt that her good motives were led astray to the point of obsession. The matchmaker had taken it upon herself to fuss and fret over Ruth's future for months now. Ruth was already weary with the lectures on dressing modestly yet stylishly to appeal to the opposite sex while Mrs. Goldstein continued to discuss the adornment of makeup, selecting appropriate jewelry, personal hygiene, and other aspects of feminine beauty.

Damnit, she spent her work hours in a restaurant. Who on earth had time to get a manicure or cared whether she had pierced ears or not?

Nevertheless, Ruth set Mrs. Goldstein's usual order down on her table with a forced grin. It was always potato salad with a rye roll, two hard-boiled eggs, and a coke with no ice.

Mrs. Goldstein nodded in approval when she saw the food and then her eyes brightened up when she recognized the brunette holding her tray. "So tell me, Ruth." She rubbed her glittering fingers together with anticipation. "How was your date with Moshe Weinstein last week? You've seen him a few times now, haven't you?"

The young woman pursed up her lips with concern. Whenever engaged in a social battle, a Jewish woman could brandish her tongue like a weapon and deliver words of rebuke or sarcasm that caused other mouths to shut up at once. But Ruth could not bring herself to chastise Mrs. Goldstein so she stated her opinion without hesitation.

"I don't like him", Ruth said in a cool firm tone.

The cat-like smile of satisfaction melted off Mrs. Goldstein's face like a snowball next to a hot stove. She blinked twice revealing heavy half-moons of green eye-shadow smeared over her lids as she bent over her table and leaned closer into Ruth's face. "Not like him! Are you sure?"

"Quite." Ruth was about to turn away and handle the next customer when she felt Mrs. Goldstein rest a firm hand on Ruth's elbow.

"Ruthie, sweetie," Mrs. Goldstein crooned in a sugary voice. "Just listen to me for a minute. Moshe is clean, he's charming, and he runs a good business selling sports equipment. You'll be taken care of and that's what a nice girl like you deserves after slaving away in that hot kitchen all these years. Did you even think about that? You'll never have to work this hard again in your life."

"Hard work's not my concern," Ruth insisted as she took a step backwards to shake off Mrs. Goldstein's grip. "It's Moshe's attitude. He took me to a vaudeville show in Manhattan and lost his temper when the usher accidentally misplaced our tickets."

Mrs. Goldstein huffed indignantly. "So?"

"So this guy was happy to give us new tickets but no, Moshe had to make a fool of himself by yelling and saying he'd report that usher to the manager. He carried on for nearly 15 minutes. I've never felt so embarrassed in my life."

Ruth exhaled sharply through her nose to calm herself down. Insomuch as she had tried to put the unpleasant experience behind her, the incident with Moshe Weinstein had left a negative impression in her mind. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at Mrs. Goldstein.

"Is that how a 'charming' bachelor is supposed to behave? Getting some poor usher-who probably struggles to make ends meet- fired from his job?" Ruth shook her head in disapproval.

"_Maideleh_, everyone has a temper. Everyone has their quirks and problems," Mrs. Goldstein tried to shush her soothingly. But Ruth would not be detoured from her opinion.

"If a man's got to lose his temper then let it be over something worthwhile," she said with a decisive conclusion. With many more customers to handle that night, Ruth didn't feel too bad when she quickly left Mrs. Goldstein's table while the woman was still blinking her green-painted eyes in astonishment.

Shalom had just gotten the next batch of orders out when the telephone near the stove rang sharply. Ruth wiped her hands on her apron, picked it up, and propped the phone to her ear so she could talk while beating a bowl of eggs.

"Shapiro's Diner. How can I help you?"

"Ruuuuuuth!" a child's voice bawled from the other end. It took her a moment to identify the foghorn sound on the end as Talia Birnbaum, a 12-year-old pigtailed girl with flaming red hair who would burst into tears if you waved a worm in her face.

So naturally Ruth didn't take the crying too seriously until Talia went on. "Mama's just had her baby and he's kinda yellow in the face—he looks bad-ooooooohhh!" Talia wailed hysterically. "And he ain't breathing well at all! We need Dr. Cohen-please, you gotta find him!"

Ruth dropped the fork she was using into the bowl and raced back into the main room. She quickly tugged on Shalom's elbow to get his attention. "Emergency at the Birnbaums. Is Dr. Cohen here?"

Shalom squinted and craned his neck over the other customers crowding the restaurant. "I think he's in the way back. I'll try to reach him but you've got to take care of the counter." She watched him persistently try to push his way through irritated customers to the back booths of the diners where Dr. Cohen was known to take a cup of coffee while chatting with his peers.

Ruth took a moment to wipe a strand of damp hair out of her face and use a paper napkin to pat the perspiration off her cheeks. Her feet ached from hours of standing at the stove and her ears were ringing with the noise of endless ongoing chatter and clattering of silverware on plates. What a night! For a split second she thought about reconsidering Moshe Weinstein's offer and wondered if Mrs. Goldstein would still talk to her after the rude snub.

The thought still hung in Ruth's mind while she attended the new customers who had just lined up at the chrome counter for a quick snack. In between orders her eye caught an old man sitting quietly at one end hunched over in his seat. Judging by his weather-beaten face and tattered coat, Ruth doubted he had any money on him. She hoped one of her brothers or the hired hands could take care of him. After running back into the kitchen to check on a batch of fried latkes, she came back to find the customer still sitting in the same place and now rocking back and forth in his seat.

His enduring presence was starting to grate on Ruth's nerves. They were running a restaurant, not a soup kitchen. Nevertheless, she wiped her hands on her apron and came over to him. Ruth laid her palms on the counter-top and looked the man in the eye. "Ready with your order?" she asked him.

When he lifted his sagging head up to hers, Ruth felt the small twinge of irritation in her chest freeze with fear and concern. His eyes were tired and quietly begging for consolation. He was hungry and worse, he was being tortured to sit and watch plate after plate of steaming mouth-watering food be carried out of the kitchen to some other lucky customer who could afford Shapiro's famous brisket and roasted potatoes.

"Whatever you've got that's not too much trouble," he said in such a soft voice that she could barely hear him over the racket from two booths down. "Please".

_Get off your high horse, Shapiro, _she chastised herself inwardly. _Spend five minutes bickering about some jerk in a suit to Mrs. Goldstein and then snubbing this poor guy? Shame on you!_

She tucked her pad of paper and a pen into the pocket of her apron. "Coming right up," Ruth assured him.

Once back into the kitchen, Ruth snatched a spatula and quickly flipped the sizzling brown latkes that were bathing in a skillet of golden oil.

_SNAP! __ZZZ!__ ZZZ!__ CRACKLE! ZZZ!_

The sound of latkes bubbling away was music to her ears. One by one, she rotated the potato pancakes until they were fully cooked and deliciously crisp to perfection. Ruth piled three latkes onto a plate and smeared mustard onto two halves of bread before fusing together a heavy pastrami sandwich. With a second thought she added a piece of blueberry pie that had been sitting out almost purposefully in the last aluminum tin on the work table.

The ragged man's hands nearly shook with joy when Ruth set down the plates of latkes, deli sandwiches, and pie smothered with vanilla custard before his ravenous face. "Here you go, sir. Saturday Night Special." She placed a bottle of ketchup next to his elbow and whispered quietly, "On the house".

Ruth had no time to see his reaction because the front door to Shapiro's Diner suddenly swept open with a blast of frigid night air that generously fanned her burning crimson cheeks. Nathan Straus and Donny Donowitz had just burst in and were slapping their arms and legs to get the snow off their coats. Nathan reminded Ruth of a circus pole, being tall and thin with large ears that stuck out underneath his bright blue hat. Donny Donowitz, on the other hand, looked demonic with his stubbly cheeks, dark hair plastered heavily above his brows, and deep brown eyes that sparked dangerously as he quickly surveyed the scene.

Without even saying a word to Ruth he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs, "EVERYONE, SHUT UP!"

Donny's booming voice had the desired effect when the diner suddenly went quiet in seconds. His dramatic entrance had quickly hushed everyone up. Their forks were still poised in the air and cigarette smoke continued to drift upward from ashtrays but otherwise, no one was talking.

Donny gave an affirmative nod. "Right. Good." He took two steps forward and with a jerk of his head, Donny's piercing gaze was fixed on Dr. Cohen's booth. "Hey Doc! What the hell are you doin' here?" he yelled while pointing an accusing finger at the unlucky man from across the room. "Thought the Birnbaum kids told ya their Ma's new baby is goin' back to heaven if you don't get off your big ol' ass and do something NOW!"

The young man ended his fuming speech by slamming a fist onto one table, causing the teacups to tremble fearfully from the impact.

"All right, all right," Dr. Cohen grumbled. He was a good man but he took his time getting places and tended to shuffle instead of run to his duties. Ruth watched him slowly get to his feet and fumble with his coat. "Of all nights to have a baby, Judy Birnbaum picked this one," he muttered under his breath.

The two men on a mission were not getting any less impatient. "Come on, move it!" Nathan Straus ordered him. Without even letting the doctor get his coat fully on, Ruth watched Donny and Nathan stride up to Dr. Cohen and grab him by the shoulders. They proceeded to drag him out of the restaurant past the gawking customers; Nathan began pulling on Dr. Cohen's arms while Donny was pushing the reluctant doctor behind his back. It was surprisingly comical, despite the serious purpose of the visit, to watch Dr. Cohen sputter with bewilderment at his harsh treatment while Donny kept yelling at him to shut up.

"And ya'd better see whatever's wrong with the little pipsqueak before I _really_ get mad and then you'll need a damn good dentist to fix your teeth!" Donny punctuated his threat by slamming the door noisily behind them. Once they were gone, the gawking customers who had just witnessed the sudden interruption gradually began to talk again-although with less noise and more reservation than before.

"Well," Mrs. Goldstein huffed indignantly. "I never!"

She saw Ruth looking at the shut door with a peculiar smile of irony on her face and took the opportunity to speak to the young woman again.

"I'm not saying Donny Donowitz is a bad man," Mrs. Goldstein began to say.

_Oh lord, here we go again_, Ruth groaned inwardly.

"…working in a barbershop while other folks have the good sense to be ambitious…to _do_ things with themselves," Mrs. Goldstein ranted on. "I've heard Rabbi Markus say that he's honest and hardworking. Now I suppose you _could_ use those attributes to cut hair but that young man always comes back from street alleys with a bloody nose and black eye. Why does he have to pick fights with those Catholic boys? Is he trying to start a pogrom right here in America? Sounds like a no-goodnick to me. Either we're shortchanging the rabbi's salary or Rabbi Markus needs better glasses because let's face it: that Donowitz boy is a wild animal."

Ruth was mortified to discover that Donowitz Sr. had been sitting in a booth no more than five feet from Mrs. Goldstein's table the entire time. While the barrier of a held-up newspaper concealed his existence from the matchmaker, it did not prevent his ears from hearing her constant rebukes about his firstborn son. Ruth was forced to stand still and listen to the ongoing gossip along with Donny's father.

"Mark my words, that boy means trouble." Mrs. Goldstein shook a silver-studded finger at Ruth. "And the things I've heard about him and the local girls. Oy vey! A real Casanova, that one. I've seen the way he smiles and flirts with them everywhere: in the shops, on the streets, near the movie theater, and even at synagogue! Doesn't he have any decency? They're always buzzing around him like bees to a honey hive."

"There will be no buzzing in this restaurant," Ruth suddenly interrupted with a firm tone in her voice. She meant to chastise Mrs. Goldstein's prattling tongue but the matchmaker must have interpreted Ruth's words as a reassurance that Donny Donowitz would never seduce her.

"Good for you, Ruth. Stay sensible and on your toes around him," Mrs. Goldstein nodded proudly. And much to Ruth's relief, the matchmaker finally gathered up her things, paid for her meal, and left the diner...though not without reminding Ruth to reconsider Moshe Weinstein should she change her mind.

Ruth caught Sy Donowitz finally putting down his newspaper once the chattering woman had left the diner. She approached his table with a cautious expression. "Can I get you another glass of tea, Mr. Donowitz?" she offered him.

"Yes, thank you Ruth," he nodded politely.

She waited until she had returned with his hot drink to continue speaking to him. "Sorry about that," Ruth apologized while putting down the tea. "Mrs. Goldstein shouldn't have spoken about your son that way. You've got a lot of patience to sit here and put up with it."

His response was to shrug and calmly fold up his newspaper. "Oh, I don't think Donny would care one way or another what that fuddy duddy matchmaker thinks of him. And frankly, neither do I." His eyes twinkled with good nature. "It's not worth getting ourselves into knots over what Mrs. Goldstein says so let's just forget the whole thing."

"Donny called Mrs. Goldstein a 'fuddy duddy' behind her back?"

"No, that's what _I_ called her. What he called her," Sy leaned closer to Ruth and said, "I don't dare repeat in Shapiro's Diner."

The comment caused an unexpected laugh to escape Ruth's lips. That was Donny Donowitz for you! Whether praised by Rabbi Markus or scorned by Mrs. Goldstein, the wise-cracking loudmouth son of Sy Donowitz was not a hypocrite or a two-faced flatterer. With Donny, what you saw was what you got. And if you didn't like it then he'd just say "fuck you" and tell you to take your business elsewhere.

Twenty minutes later, Shalom burst out of the kitchen with arms flaying in excitement. "I just got off the phone with Dr. Cohen. Mrs. Birnbaum's going to be fine! And so is her baby boy!" he beamed happily.

Voice after voice of customer's remarks rang up with delight. "Mazel tov! Mazel tov!" came the chorus from the crowd, followed by a round of applause.

"Mr. Shapiro says in honor of the occasion we're having pie on the house tonight!" Shalom yelled to the crowd, which was followed by more cheering and waving hands. Ruth's concern at the added dishes to carry out was quickly outweighed with the relief that they had something to celebrate that night. With silent thanks for Judy Birnbaum and her child, she began to cut wedges of fresh hot apple pie with more enthusiasm than before.

Suddenly remembering their silent customer, Ruth made her way over to his end of the counter with certainty that he wouldn't turn down a second helping of dessert. But when she to his place with a plate of apple pie, he was already gone. Ruth didn't recall him exiting the diner unless he had chosen to slip unnoticed out the back door during the night's wild fiasco.

_Can't blame him for avoiding the wrath of Donny Donowitz_, she mused. _Though if Sy's son is going to blow a gasket then well….let's face it. He may be a fighter and a womanizer and swear to kingdom come but Donny sure cares about the Jewish people-_

Ruth stopped stacking up the old man's dirty dishes when she found something tucked under his plate, causing her breath to grow short and a soft swirl of emotions to stir within her heart.

There on the counter lay a shiny quarter that winked at her smartly under the diner's yellow lights.


	2. Chapter 2

Boston's Jewish community had its fair share of wagging tongues. But even the mildest and meekest of them all including shy widow Mrs. Finklestein was wide-eyed and tongue-tied to hear the scandalous news: Ruth Shapiro of the local diner had proposed marriage to Donny Donowitz from the barbershop.

The nerve of that girl! How dare she make such a blatant statement! Nobody did anything without asking Mrs. Goldstein, the local matchmaker, for advice on such delicate personal matters. Mrs. Goldstein's oh-so-generous advice (and she gave much of _that_ to everyone whether they liked it or not) had been ignored and Ruth Shapiro had opted to make her own match as if it was the simplest thing in the world. No eligible young woman would violate social protocol unless she was off her rocker.

"Such _chutzpah_!" chattered Mrs. Bergman over afternoon tea. "Rushing into things without Mrs. Goldstein's help. What does Shapiro's girl think she's doing?"

She and her companions were passing the time in the back of the diner while sitting around a table and catching up on their homespun knit sweaters and socks. Between wagging tongues and flickering needles, at least four pairs of socks were finished and five people slandered within the hour.

"And to marry Donny Donowitz of all people," Mrs. Klein added with a heavy nod of her head. Her knitting needles clicked sharply together in monotone rhythm while she ranted on. "You think a girl like Ruth could do better. She's got a good head on her shoulders. A pity her father can't afford to send her to college….."

Mrs. Klein let her voice trail off before releasing a deep sigh of disapproval. She wasn't overly enthusiastic with the idea of sending women off to the sacred halls of higher education that were usually reserved for men. But at least universities offered a safe and controlled environment for the "fairer sex". The same couldn't be said about that Donowitz boy.

Mrs. Klein fixed a sharp eye on her peers and went on. "Ruth's getting quite a brawler for a husband," she cautioned the other ladies. "And I doubt he'll be able to cool down that wild temper of his for two full minutes." Instinctively, they clucked their tongues and nodded their heads in agreement.

"Surely he's not that bad," Mrs. Finkelstein suddenly piped up in her timid gentle voice.

Her comment caused the ladies' heads to turn on her and glare with such beady eyes of skeptism that she almost retreated back into her knitting with permanent silence. But with surprising resolution, Mrs. Finkelstein managed to clear her throat and continue speaking while winding a strand of red yarn around her needle.

"Sy Donowitz always had a stubborn streak that still runs in his family but he's never had to tell his boys twice to respect their elders," she pointed out. "And each family runs an honest business. Those level-headed Shapiros are always careful about the friends they're acquainted with."

"Still think Ruth's being level-headed?" Mrs. Bergman shot at her fellow knitter.

The tone which she used caused Mrs. Finkelstein to shrug her shoulders meekly. "It might be a good match to balance out their personalities. And besides," she added in a much softer tone. "A girl like Ruth would be safe having a big fellow like the Donowitz boy close by."

"Safe? How could any girl be safe around that-that rogue? "Mrs. Bergman could barely speak except sputter the words out of her lips.

"Safer than Europe, that's for certain."

The ladies fell silent while their minds retreated back to the latest radio news about Germany's latest chancellor and his radical ideas to rebuild the country...including unpleasant comments regarding the Hebrew race. These were negative but valid facts that would eventually shake history to the ground but for now, they had no idea how a handful of people were going to change mankind for better or for worse.

Mrs. Klein decided to get back on the subject. "I suppose all things well aside, we've seen Donny walk out of those fist fights and grinning like a cat who fought for his cream. Always using his hands instead of his head ever since he was seven years old! Now he's become that big lumbering giant so Ruth had better stay on her toes. Goodness knows if he'll give her a black eye on their wedding night but I'll bet my money on—"

"Bluma, please," Mrs. Finkelstein protested. She felt her friend had gone far enough. But the insensitive Bluma Klein continued to rant and rave despite Mrs. Finkelstein's desire that she hold her tongue.

"—don't even mention the words 'loyalty' and 'Donowitz 'in the same sentence because _he_ won't stay home every night for Ruth Shapiro. Oh no, Mister Big Shot has to pull his pants down for a gentile girl—now now Mrs. Finkelstein, I didn't have to see it with my own eyes to _know_ it was true. What else was that _nudnick_ of a Donowitz doing near Johnsons with a _shikse_ last month? Huh! A good thing my cousin Shusterman saw them together in the alleyway. Why Ruth Shapiro thinks she can turn Donny Donowitz into even _half_ of a decent fellow is beyond my..."

_**WHAM!**_

A heavy wooden bowl slammed so hard against the counter that it nearly cracked in half. The ladies' conversation went silent and they all turned heads to see none other than Ruth Shapiro standing behind the chrome counter. The uneasy silence spoke volumes when hazel eyes starred defiantly back at the once-chattering women.

As usual she had on her white apron and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows for an afternoon of kitchen patrol duty. But now Ruth's knuckles gripped the bowl tightly, the muscles in her cheeks tightened with silent anger, and her lower lip-often graced with a gentle curl or smile-was now drawn taut and thin with disapproval.

"Enough," Ruth demanded in a cool curt voice. It was the trademark tone of an annoyed Shapiro who strained for self-control before exploding into someone's face.

"_Enough_," she repeated with a sharp swap of one hand. "Donny and I are going to be married in two months and that's that. I'm not asking for your blessings or even your advice. But you'd better leave your gossip outside or else you won't get even get so much as a single cup of tea from this diner ever again!"

Ruth ended her little speech by sealing her lips, whirling on heel, and marching back into the kitchen to finish up the day's work.

With subdued expressions and almost shameful looks, the women hastily gathered up their knitting bags and tried to leave Shapiro's Diner as quietly as possible. Only Mrs. Finkelstein smiled approvingly to herself and dared to think so no one else would overhear her thoughts: _"Well done, Ruth."_

A-A-A

Five minutes later, Ruth Shapiro and Leah Cohen were sitting on high-legged stools in the kitchen and slicing up strawberries for jam and pie filling. Ruth's fingers were flying madly as her knife deftly snipped through juicy red fruits and the giant aluminum bowl between them was ever-so-gradually becoming fuller and fuller. Welding razor-sharp knives and blasting food into flaming hot ovens was oddly satisfying and almost cathartic to Ruth's temper as she worked and confided to her best friend.

"I could just spit," she said at last. "Listening to them talk like that."

"They got you that bad, eh Ruthie?" Leah asked.

Ruth's response was a muttered comment under her breath that sounded like a Yiddish cuss word, causing Leah to chuckle to herself.

Leah Cohen was a tall lanky woman with a snub nose, slender piano-playing fingers, and wavy locks of black hair. She was a head-and-a-half taller than Ruth and had her heart set on attending medical school in Stamford. If Ruth's scandalous action of proposal had set Boston gossip aflame then Leah had gleefully poured gasoline onto the fire by telling everyone she wouldn't consider marriage until she was a certified nurse from the state of Connecticut. Leah was as determined in her career as Ruth was in her commitment to matrimony which was probably why they confided in each other every so often about society's disapproval of their independent decisions.

"How are your parents handling the truth about college?"Ruth asked her friend.

"Better than I thought," Leah assured her. "Dad's a bit up in arms but thank goodness, Momma isn't just ready to give me up entirely to a strange man. She's glad to know to know nursing school will keep me busy for at least a year or two. And I'll be just a train ride away from home on the weekends."

Leah cocked her head to one side. "What about you, Ruthie? Still gung-ho about doing 'it' with Donny Donowitz as I am about medical school?"

"Yes." Ruth wiped her red-stained hands on her apron. "No matter what those ladies say I'm going to make this match work if it's the last sane thing I do on the face of God's earth."

"I don't think it'll be the last one you do," Leah smiled. "People don't want to admit it out loud but they're glad you picked a Boston boy instead of some out-of-town big shot like that Weinstein snob. They're just surprised because you've never shown an interest in Donny Donowitz before."

One eyebrow lifted up slightly in a theatrical gesture. "Haven't I?" Ruth remarked lightly.

The tone of her voice was somewhat of a surprise to Leah. She knew Shapiros weren't as outgoing or boisterous as Donowitzs; they always came across as the sensible "mind-your-manners" sort of people. But now and then you never know...

Ruth kept talking while she got out the sugar jar. "Remember that time years ago when Donny and his friends were just kids and had released the chickens out of their coops from Mr. Staltz's backyard? The poor man was absolutely furious! He chased them around the block all afternoon."

"I remember!" Leah laughed aloud. "Those poor chickens! All twelve of them flapping and pecking about while Staltz ran after Donny, Nathan, and the others with his broomstick. He kept hollering how he'd beat their hides into horse meat." She helped herself to a strawberry in the bowl between them while Ruth went on.

"I also know their parents marched everyone over to Rabbi Markus' office for a stern lecture," Ruth said as she scooped out some sugar. "Stlatz wanted to spank them senseless but Rabbi Markus convinced him otherwise. He decided to assign Donny and his friends several important jobs around the neighborhood to keep them out of mischief."

Leah stopped chewing on her strawberry for a moment. "Say, is that why the boys are always building the _sukkah _in the courtyard ever year?"

Ruth nodded. "I guess the boys liked sawing wood and pounding with hammers and nails because they came back to Rabbi Markus asking for more work to do-must've been so proud of their handiwork too. Now it's practically tradition. Every autumn, Donny and Nathan get all the young men to build the _sukkah _and then come to the diner for a supper."

"Aha! The sight of Donowitz Junior in his shirtsleeves and rippling biceps must have won you over," Leah concluded merrily.

"As if that would suffice a Shapiro!" was Ruth's counter-remark. "The man's got a mouth faster than the Galena railroad train and a temper like a boiler room. But he's rock solid, loves this community, and doesn't set foot in a gambling saloon. I know my priorities in a potential match so after all these years of watching him come in and out of this diner, there wasn't anything else to do but pop the question to him."

Leah's response was to stand on her stool and dramatically clap her hands as if in a playhouse. "Bravo, Ms. Shapiro! Well done. I'm sure the critics will call it a hit."

"Very funny." Ruth tugged on Leah's dress to bring her back down to reality.

"And what about Mrs. Klein's gossip about Donny and that girl?" Leah asked.

Ruth's head whirled madly around at the question "Tsk! Must be a rumor," she insisted. "I can't take every one of Mrs. Klein's words to heart."

"Innocent until proven guilty?" Leah crooked a finger at her. "You're sweet to give him an easy pass. I mean for all the tricks and troubles he's gotten into, Donny's always been easy on the eyes ever since he was fourteen. I wouldn't blame a 'glamor' girl for trying to get to know him better."

"A rumor," Ruth reminded her. She tried to keep her face calm and poised as possible despite her inner curiosity to know the truth behind the vague story of the movie theater. "And as likely as…"

"As likely as Mrs. Goldstein and Mrs. Klein taking permanent vows of silence?" Leah suggested. The two of them giggled together in agreement.

A sharp knock came at the back door and Leah quickly turned around so Donny wouldn't see her face and tell her to wipe that smug smile away before he ripped it off with his fingers. The door swung open and the legendary (if not scandalous) bat-swinger of the East Side walked in.

Ruth thought he looked a little neater today than usual but that must have been because he wasn't working the afternoon shift at the barbershop on Tuesdays. Donny's hair was combed and his shirt was tucked in for a change. But his brooding expression was a cross between aggravation and punctured ego. Nothing else could make Donny's brow scrunch up like that except for the news of his beloved Red Sox suffering a slaughtering defeat on the baseball field—or the ongoing unappreciated comments about his commitment to Ruth.

They got him all wrong. Donny wasn't discouraged about agreeing to marry a sensible girl and a good cook like Ms. Shapiro. It was the constant prattling noise from everyone else's mouths' that he found—to put it bluntly—downright fucking annoying.

He nearly thrust what he was carrying at Ruth with such disdain that Leah could only shake her head in disbelief. "_How humiliating for Mr. Hotshot Donowitz,"_ she gloated inwardly. "_Finally getting himself tied to Ruth's apron strings_."

Ruth, on the other hand, had gratefully taken the flowers out of Donny's hands. Violets and sweets weren't Donny's standard method of courtship (usually it involved grabbing an attractive female by the waist and giving her a smack on the lips) so Ruth was a bit surprised-but nevertheless touched-at his mannerism.

"Thank you. But who's idea was it to bring a bouquet?" she inquired curiously.

Donny answered with a sharp shrug of the shoulders and began rambling on in his usual manner. "Figured you'd like somethin' nicer than those frilly puff-puffs at the corner store. Ma had a few growing in the garden box and said I'd better bring some over. Y'know," he inclined his head closer. "Since you're head-over-heels for this marriage business I figured I'd better do somethin' right."

Ruth glanced down at the little cluster of window-box violets and felt a tug of gratitude inside. "Tell your mother they're lovely," she smiled in relief. She placed the bright purple flowers in an empty glass jug and began to fill it with water from the tap. "By the way, my father wants to talk to you this afternoon. Alone."

Donny eyed her shrewdly and his gaze darkened even more at her words. "About what?"

It was Ruth's turn to shrug. "He didn't say. Private matters, I suppose."

Out of the corner of his eye, Donny noticed Leah Cohen sitting on her stool and pretending to cut up strawberries. A mere inch of adjusting her head revealed a wide silly grin and shoulders that trembled from stifled laughter. It was clear that she was enjoying the head-on collision with courtship and Donny's demise.

"Don't you have somethin' better to do than be starrin' at me?" he snapped at her. "Can't wait 'til you get off to that damn school of yours and learn how to stick knives and needles into people. Say hi to your quack-job of a doc for me too."

And with that he turned on heel and went out the door, making it slam noisily as he had done a hundred times before.

A-A-A

Up until now the three Shapiro boys had no qualms with the Donowitz family. None of them were especially close to Donny while growing up but he could always count on a Shapiro to show up at the local park just when they needed a 9th player on the baseball team. And Sy's shop was a good place for a faithful customer to walk on in for some easy talk and a good haircut. So over the years there had been no serious qualms or threats, just mutual respect acknowledged on the street or the nod of a head when visiting the diner.

But now Benny, Max, and Joshua Shapiro all seemed to be glaring at Donny when he walked through the front door of their house. Never mind that he was at least 40 pounds heavier than each of them and could take on all three brothers at once. He was marrying their only sister, goddamnit! The Shapiro boys weren't going to just let Donny Donowitz, or any _schmuck_ for that matter, get their legs around Ruth so easily.

"Dad's waiting for you in the parlor." Max jerked behind his shoulder with a thumb.

"Thanks." Donny walked past Max towards the back room, all the while feeling the heat of their eyes boring into the back of his skull. While he wasn't exactly scared or even intimidated by the Shapiro boys, the lack of civility on their behalf was grating on Donny's nerves. It wasn't as if _**he**_ had started this whole thing!

A crocheted afghan lay on the back of one chair where Mr. Shapiro had been sitting and glancing at a newspaper. He looked up when he saw the tall figure of Donny in the doorway and rose from his seat.

"You're looking well," Mr. Shapiro said while offering a hand to Donny. "Baseball keeping you busy?"

"Busy enough," Donny replied. He accepted the smaller hand that had a firm but brief grip on his handshake. Mr. Shapiro was usually a good-natured man who ran his diner like clockwork and had a polite greeting for every customer who came through the door. But with a particularly delicate situation like this one on his hands, not even Donny knew what Mr. Shapiro could be planning.

Mr. Shapiro turned around to the three young men who still stood in the doorway and were eying Donny the way vultures might eye a fresh carcass of dead meat. "Joshua, would you mind bringing out some seltzer from the ice box? I'd like to speak to Donny alone."

One by one, the boys slunk off, their beady eyes still fixed on that accursed Donowitz man until they were out of sight. Donny waited two long tense minutes until Joshua finally returned with a full try and placed it ceremoniously on the little coffee table. The water droplets on the chilled seltzer bottles, the shiny glass cups, and the square bottle of amber-colored liquid could only be some part of this bizarre ritual that had set Donny far outside of his comfort zone.

"Now then," Mr. Shapiro said as he reached for the seltzer. "I understand you've accepted Ruth's proposal to marry you."

The words leaped out of Donny's mouth before he could catch himself. "Well, fuck yes," he retorted. "Why else is everyone mouthin' up and down the town as if it's their damn business what I do?"

_Shit and double shit, _he fumed inwardly._ Way to go, Donowitz. Impress the in-laws with your cussin' mouth. Great way to get Max-asshole and his schemers breathin' down your neck again. _

If Mr. Shapiro was slighted by Donny's natural habit of swearing then he didn't show it in the least. He simply picked up the bottle. "Scotch?"

"Sure." Donny could already feel the knots in his muscles unwind slightly from the offer.

Shapiro added one-third scotch to the seltzer mixture, dropped in a few ice cubes, and stirred it with a long silver spoon before handing it to Donny. One thing you had to admit about Shapiro and that is how well he could make a good drink. Donny gulped down two mouthfuls of Scotch and seltzer, savoring the burning sensation that shot down his throat and filled his stomach with fire power.

"Don't mind my boys acting like mules," Shapiro assured Donny while he fixed another drink for himself. "They've been rude ever since Ruth told them the news. Joshua even tried to talk her out of it."

Shapiro's frankness was taking the edge off Donny. And the Scotch was pure gold and heat on his tongue. He let another mouthful of alcohol roll around in his mouth before swallowing it down.

"They hate me that much, huh?" Donny sucked on an ice cube before crunching it with his back teeth.

"It's not what you think it is. We've all become a bit dependent on Ruth...too dependent since my wife passed away, I suppose. It must be difficult being the only girl in a houseful of boys so I've got to make sure Ruth can have a life of her own."

Shapiro sipped his drink thoughtfully for a moment before he went on. "Frankly, I figure my girl could do better with a local boy than one of those big-headed ruffians from another city. If she marries you then at least I can watch your back".

Donny would have thrown Shapiro one of his confident trademark grins had Shapiro not pointed a finger up at the ceiling. "Do you know what's in my attic, Donny?"

Uncertain of where this conversation was now leading towards, Donny just shook his head.

"A 1931 Winchester rifle."

"Shit. No kidding." He was beginning to get the picture.

Shapiro went on. "Contrary to my boys' opinions, I think Ruth will do right by you. You're from a good family and I haven't a qualm against your father. So I'm only going to say this once." Shapiro cleared his throat and looked Donny straight in the eye. His voice was calm, pert, and to the point.

"If you ever raise your hand against my daughter…if you do anything to make her cry or regret marrying you then I'll blow your brains out." He set his glass down on the coffee table with a decisive _CLINK_. "Am I clear, Donny Donowitz?"

He watched a vein in Donny's temple throb madly but the young man's expression was unreadable. "Crystal," he answered crisply before raising his glass to Mr. Shapiro.

"_L'Chaim_," Donny announced before tipping back his head and emptying the contents down his throat.

A-A-A

_ONE HOUR LATER:_

Donny was surprised to find Ruth was still waiting for him back at the diner. She had removed her apron and dusted the flour stains off her pleated gray skirt. Her hair was also out of a braid and fell to her shoulders in soft brown waves. It was a bit odd seeing Ruth out of her work clothes and reading at a booth instead of standing poised behind the counter.

Ruth glanced up from her Charles Dickens novel and gestured to a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun on the counter. Donny didn't need to be told twice and he took a seat, helping himself to the bun by ripping it in half and dunking it into the coffee. Ruth watched him shove the spongy substance into his mouth and chew with fierce resolution as the gears whirled madly in his head.

"Well, how did it go?" Ruth dared to ask him.

Donny's response was a glare out of big defiant dark eyes that blazed with wrath.

Ruth resisted the urge to look amused. "That bad, huh?"

"Your brothers hate my guts and your dad wants to kill me," Donny said at last through a full mouth of bun. "Thanks for the warning."

Half a smile had tweaked its way into the corner of Ruth's mouth. "It's their way of saying you're better than my last suitor. They're just too proud to admit it."

This comment was a salve on Donny's wounded ego but he didn't dare show his appreciation just yet.

"Humph." Donny took another gulp of coffee. "You Shapiros got a funny way of showin' respect for new family. I thought maybe Goldstein and her yakkin' tongue got to your brothers first."

Ruth's easy expression suddenly became cool with suspicion. "Some of the women _were _talking earlier on," she replied as-a-matter-of-fact.

"Aw, hell no!" Donny groaned. "Don't tell me ya got their jabberin' words stuck in your head too!" He put down the coffee cup and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "Thought you could do better'n listening to those fat chickens cluck around all day."

Now it was Ruth's turn to lift up her chin in defiance. "I don't know what to believe," she insisted. "All I've heard is about you being seen behind the movie theater with a tall blonde from the mayor's family." She cocked her head to one side. "Would you at least tell me your side of the story?"

She watched him rise to his feet, his shadow looming heavily over her petite five-foot-three frame. Donny wagged a finger in her face. "Lemme get one thing straight through that pin-pricked Shapiro brain of yours: I didn't fuck that _shikshe _and I sure as hell don't want anyone ever sayin' I was thinking of messin' with her. _Ever_." He punctuated this last word with decisive finality.

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of a motor humming outside the diner. Ruth's jaw nearly hit the ground when the black limousine came into her vision from behind the window glass. There was no mistaking that man who had gotten out of the driver's seat was the chauffeur. He wore a maroon uniform with gold piping and a matching cap.

_The neighbors are going to have a field day about this_, Ruth predicted. Nobody on this side of the city had a car like that, let alone a hired hand to drive it around for you.

The chauffeur opened up the passenger's door and out came two long tanned legs in nylons and white leather pumps. Donny and Ruth were both transfixed as the woman walked from the car to the diner and opened up the front door. The bell overhead jingled merrily to acknowledge her presence.

The newcomer was almost as tall as Donny but those legs could have gone on forever down to Miami. A halo of pale yellow curls framed a heart-shaped face that was blessed with a delicate chin and dainty upturned nose. The lips were full-pouting and painted bright red; the eyes fringed with lacy lashes. She was flawlessly dressed in a tailored jacket of gray silk and matching skirt that wrapped snugly around a slim waist. A white leather purse tucked under one arm, dainty kid gloves with pearl buttons, and a jaunty white straw hat completed the exquisite female form standing before them.

Ruth was too distracted to even notice Donny's response to the woman because she was so preoccupied in taking in her appearance. Then the newcomer fixed large blue eyes on Ruth.

"Pardon me. Are you Miss Shapiro?" she asked in a musical yet slightly meloncholy tone.

Self-conscience in her flat shoes and work clothes, Ruth could do little else but clear her throat and smooth down her hair. "Yes I am. Can I help you?"

The woman walked right up to her and took Ruth's well-worked hands into her gloved ones. "I'm so glad to finally meet you. I'm Clara Des Moines and I'm looking for Donny. This was the only place I could try to reach him without..."

The woman lifted her head up to see Donny leaning casually against the counter with both hands in his pockets. He seemed neither surprised or overly enthusiastic about her presence. "Hey," he said in a voice that was decisively less gruff than his usual tone of manner. "You doin' all right, Clara?"

Ruth only hoped the smile on Clara's face was not a gesture of flirting because the sight of this muse ogling her man-to-be was making the Shapiro sensibleness within Ruth crawl up the walls with jealousy. She watched Clara cross the floor towards Donny.

"I had to see you one last time before leaving town. I wanted to thank you for treating me like a real person." Clara's voice quivered with uncertainty while she fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief.

"Hey, hey," Donny had shushed her in a voice that was surprisingly low and gentle. "You're gonna be fine, Clara. You're tougher than your folks say you are. Jest remember what I told you, okay? Gotta keep your chin up."

She sniffled and gently dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. "Yes, of course. But there must be something I can do for you." She searched in her purse for something else and extracted what looked like an envelope. But Donny just laid his big palm over Clara's gloved hand before she could offer it to him.

"Nah," he shook his head quickly. "Don't let anyone every say Donowitz couldn't stand on his own two feet making a good living."

"But you could use it," Jessica insisted.

"I'm gonna be workin' good pay at Whitmore's Shipping next month so don't worry 'bout me. And besides," Donny glanced over Clara's head to look back at Ruth. "I've already got what I need."

"Of course." Clara nodded and consented by putting the envelope back into her purse. "Bless you both." Much to Donny and Ruth's surprise, her gloved hand reached up to the stubbly face of the barber's son and she bent close enough to bestow a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Donny did not react with great enthusiasm. He had to put both hands on Jessica's arms and push her back long enough to look her in the eye. "Watch it Clara," he cautioned her. "Guys like me could get pounded for lettin' girls like you do that."

She studied his face quizzically. "Why?"

Donny shrugged. "That's the way the world runs, sweetheart. Life ain't always fair. But that's why God gave us fists, right?" He gave her a confident grin and held up one of his balled-up hands for demonstration.

Clara nodded and at last the dewdrop tears filled up her eyes but came no further. She gulped hard to compose herself before her eyes overflowed and the tears would run down her pearly face. In a final gesture her fingertips touched Donny's face before turning back to the awestruck Ruth Shapiro.

"You're a very lucky girl," she said at last. "Congratulations on your engagement".

With a wistful glance over her shoulder, the lithe figure of Miss Des Moines walked out the door, high-heels clicking gently against the tiles. Donowitz and Shapiro watched the chauffeur help Clara back into the limousine. There was the roar of an engine, the puff of exhaust fumes, and the car rolled down the street before turning right and vanishing out of focus.

The clock overhead ticked five times before Donny finally spoke again.

"Her ma won't let Clara eat more than four bites at a meal. And her Pa's tryin' to get her married to some millionaire out west." He shifted from one foot to another restlessly. "Some life. No wonder she was so fruckin' miserable when I found her behind the theater."

He glanced down at Ruth who, judging by the clarity in her hazel eyes, just had the last bit of the mental jigsaw puzzle snapped into place. She didn't need to ask Donny to retell the story but she could already imagine the scenario in her head: The beautiful Clara Des Moines, trapped in an arranged marriage of business and convenience, had been dropped off by her chauffeur and was sobbing behind Johnson's cinema the same night Donny and his pals were going to see the Marx Brothers in _Room Service_.

Shusterman, upon overhearing the two of them in the alleyway, had rashly come to the conclusion that Donny had stumbled across the winsome Clara and was taking advantage of her breasts.

In truth, the maiden of the ivory tower only had been sobbing into his shoulder for a moment of human support and compassion. She unexpectedly but gratefully received it from the big Jewish bat-swinger of Sy's Barbershop. Brash, headstrong, and mouthy—yes—but Donny could be surprisingly decent and maybe even just a tiny bit chivalrous when he decided to act like a _mentsch_.

"I owe you an apology," Ruth said at last with reddened ears.

"For what?"

"For letting Mrs. Klein's words get to my head. I took one look at Clara and wondered how I could hold onto a guy like you after you've met a woman like that."

Now it was Donny's turn to grin with interest. "What kind of a woman d'ya mean?"

"You know," Ruth gestured to the door. "The kind that turns heads everywhere she goes."

"Aw, c'mon Ruth." He actually laughed heartily for the first time all day. "Never thought a Shapiro'd be jealous. Did ya even see her hands? A woman who can't even shake a finger in her folks' faces ain't the kind of woman I could put up with."

"And you could put up with this?" Ruth spread out all ten of her stubborn short-nailed fingers for Donny to see.

He nodded approvingly. "Sure can. So long as you can make me another cuppa coffee like this then you'll always hit a home run, Baby Ruth."

"Baby Ruth?" she repeated.

"Yeah. My Baby Ruth." He took two wide steps towards Ruth and slipped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her securely to his chest. "Now how's about us celebratin' with Mr. Manishevitz by getting a bottle of wine outta the cellar?"

He watched her face glow pink with pride and a fresh dimple appeared in one cheek. "I think that's the best idea you've had all day," Ruth said at last with great satisfaction.

A-A-A

Glossary:

Chutzpah — Nerve or insolence

Nudnick – Pest

Shikshe - Gentile girl

Sukkah - An outdoor booth covered with branches built for the holiday of Sukkot

L'Chaim - "To life"

Mentsch - A good man


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, c'mon! Wait up!"

The heavy chrome bus did not hear the shout from the young man who came running up the road, hoping to hop onto it just before it left the East Side for good. It merely rolled down the street with the loud groan of a creaky engine, leaving Donny stuck at the curb with his hands on his kneecaps as he panted heavily for breath. He looked up just in time to see the bus turn on a corner and vanish out of his sight.

He seized the cap from his head and threw it down onto the pavement in disgust. "Damnit!" Donny cursed, causing spit to spray from his mouth. He whirled around in place and delivered a hard kick to a nearby garbage can to release his frustrations.

"Of all the fucking fuckety fuck fucks." He continued to grumble while the heavy aluminum can clattered noisily to the ground.

"Didn't you check the time schedule?" a voice piped up behind him.

He scowled for a brief moment. Donny's irritation simmered at the thought of his doting little wife rubbing it in or giving a brief lecture on the logic of being punctual for public transportation. Shapiros weren't perfect people but the last thing Donny wanted to hear was "I told you so" from Mrs. Ruth Donowitz.

Despite Mrs. Bergman's suspicions about the match, Donny didn't return home drunk and beat Ruth senseless at the end of the day. She simply wouldn't have tolerated it. (And it's unwise to provoke a woman who keeps a heavy rolling pin and a set of sharp knives in the kitchen.) They had their spats, their laughs, and their ups and downs but overall the first year of marriage had miraculously managed to survive whatever mournful predictions the local gossipers had said 12 months ago.

Nevertheless, it _had_ been a challenging week for Ruth and Donny.

The diner's only washing contraption had backed up, causing the tiled floor to flood with water and suds for two days. While Ruth had been vexed about mopping up all the water and catching a cold, Donny nearly broke his thumb living a heavy crate at the Whitmore Shipping Company. He wouldn't have minded the bruised hand had Dr. Cohen not given him a severe warning to give up baseball for the next six weeks. Donny was sent forth with a hand wrapped in a heavy gauze bandage and a heated expression of impatience. Why did it take so long for bones to grow back?

Donny just slapped his thigh with his good hand while grumbling more foul words under his breath. No baseball, no pitching, and now no bus to take him to his destination. Life was just raining on his parade today.

Ruth rubbed her sore nose with a handkerchief. "How far is it? Three miles each way?" she asked Donny.

His shoulders slumped as he glanced up the road. "Yeah."

His wife glanced at the big brass clock fused into a drugstore wall. "We could walk it together and be back home before dark," Ruth suggested. "And it's a nice day after all."

The last part was certainly true. After a sweltering summer chocked in humidity and sweat-soaked shirts, the Boston locals were grateful for the change in weather. September had become a welcomed month of cool night showers and midday breezes. Children were going back to school while shopkeepers chatted and admired the changing colors of leaves on the trees under clear blue skies.

"Hmmmm." Donny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand while considering the offer. Come to think of it, the exercise would be good for his legs and a good opportunity to let out some of that hot air that had been building up inside of him all week.

He eyed his wife cautiously before his attention drifted down to her footwear. "You sure you wanna hike six miles in those pointy shoes, kiddo?"

Her expression brightened up to hear him consent. "I'll put on my flats," Ruth assured him. "And a walk might clear up my sinuses." On cue, Ruth's nose wrinkled up with discomfort and she thrust her head forward. "Wa-choo!" she sneezed noisily before burying her nose in the handkerchief

Instinctively, Donny chuckled. He could already feel his temper ebbing away. "Aright, Baby Ruth," he nodded in agreement. "Be ready in 10 minutes with your leaky nose in tow."

A-A-A

Mrs. Finkelstein was sitting in her rocking chair and knitting a scarf when she saw two figures coming up the road together.

Donny could have been the tall dark brooding anti-hero of a dime novel if he hadn't looked so pleasantly casual in a clean-pressed collared shirt and v-neck sweater. He still wore his flat sports cap and would touch the brim whenever someone crossed his path as a nod of acknowledgement. One hand clutched a large brown paper bag while the other held Ruth's gloved hand. Her left hand held a trusty handkerchief lest she break out into sneezing again.

He certainly felt a lot better now that they were out walking. His legs moved in stride and he could feel the blood pumping through his veins. Donny took in a deep breath of autumn air and exhaled deeply, savoring the fresh breeze that filled his lungs with energy. He swung the paper bag to and fro and even hummed for a minute or two.

"We've got a long way to walk, Ruthie," he spoke up. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Anything but baseball," she insisted. "You've been ranting about it since midday." Ruth could handle only so much about the Red Sox and while she tried to be polite about Donny's infatuation with sports, sometimes enough was enough after four hours of focusing on one beloved topic.

"Yeesh!" he replied with a mock scowl of disgust. "There's no such thing as too much baseball."

"I think I know some people who would disagree with that. You can go overboard with a lot of things in life."

"Oh yeah?" Donny challenged her. "Like what?"

She began to count suggestions off her fingers. "Too much alcohol, too much smoking, too much gambling—"

"—Too many books," Donny interrupted her.

"You can never have too many books," Ruth announced firmly. "They're good for the brain."

"Fine. Too many bonbons."

She scowled briefly. "You gave me that box of candy," Ruth retorted in defense. "Was I not supposed to eat a present even if it wrecks the shape of my _tuchus_?"

"It's a nice _tuchus_," Donny snickered, glancing behind to examine his wife's posterior.

Ruth stopped in her tracks and put a hand on the back of her skirt. "It sticks out too much," she blushed.

"Now you're just fishin' for compliments," Donny provoked her. "Now if your stomach was stickin' out, everyone'd think you swallowed a melon."

"Believe me, if I was going to have a baby then you'd be the first to know," Ruth assured him.

Donny's response was an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders. The thought of having some bundle of love whining and drooling on his shoulder would have disturbed Donny years ago before the notion of marriage had even crept into his head. Still, he'd be a fool to deny that he had been thinking about it for a while now even it meant sleepless nights and dripping diapers ahead in the near future.

It would be nice having a toddler who could one day become big enough for him to teach baseball to and it wasn't as if he and Ruth hadn't been trying in the bedroom...

He threw a hand up in the air dramatically. "Great. No baseball, no babies. That brings us back to bupkes."

"Then tell me about your uncle," Ruth suggested. "Since we're going to visit him you might as well tell me how well you knew Abraham Donowitz."

"Knew him?" A broad grin spread across Donny's face which had tilted up to the sky. "Uncle Abe was the best man t'ever walk this earth," he announced proudly.

A-A-A

Boston, 1908

"_Mazel Tov!" Abraham Donowitz slapped his brother on the back with a hearty clap. "I'm sure you and Ms. Grinberg are going to be a great match together."_

"_Thanks for the reassurance," Sy said. Despite the happiness of the occasion, his look of concern did not escape his older brother's eye._

"_What on earth's the matter, Sy? I thought you liked Rose Grinberg."_

"_I do," Sy insisted. "A girl like Rose deserves a better life after leaving Russia and coming all the way here to start a new life. I hope I can give her all that she's worth."_

"_Dowry, eh?" Abraham rubbed his fingers across his bushy mustache in thought. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it. You and Rose should get married now while you're both young and strong. Besides, weren't you going into business for yourself?"_

"_I certainly was. There's a store for lease on Maple Street and I've got two boys to help me turn it into a barbershop."_

"_Splendid!" Abe boomed in his loud hearty voice. "Men need haircuts like they need my shirts. That's a good long-term investment you should look into."_

"_But the bank won't lend me the hundred dollars I need to get started," Sy said a forlorn voice.  
_

"_Is that why you've been so mopey lately? Well, why didn't you say so?" Abraham sat down at his desk and pulled out his checkbook. "You tell me what you need for a down payment and I'll make sure to write it out-"_

_His brother interrupted him with a slap of a hand on the desk."Abe, I can't take a single penny from you," Sy insisted. "How can I get married if I'll be indebted to you for years?"_

"_You won't be," Abe assured him as he wrote his name on the check. "You can pay me back as soon as you've made enough money to cover this loan." He tore off the check with a flourish and handed it to Sy, who only looked more upset at the slip of paper being offered to him._

"_I won't do it." Sy shook his head in defiance. "I'll shine shoes and sell newspapers if I have to make a living but I can't accept it."_

"_Damnit, Sy!" Abe bellowed, leaping to his feet madly. "I need your stubbornness like I need a hole in my head. You said Rose Grinberg deserves better? Then make yourself worth it with a good business. It's the least I can do for your after helping in the shirt store all these years." He walked around the desk and stuffed the check into Sy's pocket._

"_Not another word about it. Now get to work—a Donowitz never sits still for anything!" Abe added with a mad twinkle of delight in his eye. Realizing that bargaining with his older brother was futile at this point, Sy released a sigh of content._

"_Thanks, Abe," he said with a nod of appreciation._

"_Much obliged," Abe assured him as he shook his brother's hand. "That's what brothers are for."_

A-A-A

"Did your father pay him back?" Ruth asked Donny.

"Less than two years later and yup, my Pops was up and running with the Donowitz Barbershop while Uncle Abe ran the Donowitz Men's Shirts Store on the other side of town," Donny announced proudly.

"He must have been glad to hear you were born."

"Uncle Abe was over the moon to hear the news. He came over to visit Ma and Pa when I was two days old with an armload of presents. He was always comin' over to cheer us up, always with a story to tell..."

A-A-A

1915

_Six years old and recovering from measles, Donny was miserable to the core. He was stuck on the sofa and had to rest all the time scratching his little red spots while other kids were running free in the street. Every now and then, snatches of laughter and shrieks of glee were heard from outside. _

_Darnit, he wanted to play stickball and knock around tin cans with his friends! But Mama Donowitz had her hands full taking care of the twins and had left Donny with a bowl of chicken soup and orders to eat every last drop._

"_Not hungry," he pouted at the time. That was two hours ago and his soup was now an unpleasant tepid temperature. Even the sky had turned an ugly shade of gray, a reflection of Donny's inner mood. There was no one to play with and no one to talk to. Impatiently, he crumpled up a wad of paper from the advertisements and threw it into a dusty corner of the room._

"_Where's my favorite nephew?" a lively voice rung out cheerfully. Donny's face lit up with delight when the door slammed shut just before the big robust figure of Abe Donowitz strode into the room._

"_Uncle Abe!" he chirped with delight, propping himself up on his elbows. He would've gotten off the sofa if his legs didn't feel so sticky and heavy."Boy am I glad to see you. It's been bully bein' sick all week."_

"_I'll bet," Abe said, pulling up a chair and taking a seat near the sofa. He took off his hat and placed it on top of the table. "Brought you something."_

_Donny made a face. "More socks and shirts?"_

"_No!" Abe laughed. "Only for Hanukah. Ah, here we are." He opened up his jacket and extracted two comic books and a stick of peppermint candy."Just what the doctor ordered to make you feel right as rain again."_

"_Boy oh boy!" Donny happily peeled off the paper and began sucking on the candy. "Doc Cohen said I can't get ya sick anymore but I've still gotta stay inside for the rest of the week," he added in between licks._

_"Then__ tell me," Abe rubbed his hands together with anticipation. "What's my favorite nephew been up to besides sitting like a sack of mush all day?"_

"_Mrs. Finkelstein ripped her stockings while bending over her tulips yesterday," Donny admitted. "And the ice-man was chased out of a bar by the cops. I saw it all from the window."_

"_Really? You don't say!" Abe was impressed with Donny's detective skills. "What else?"_

"_Ma's been crying a lot," Donny added in a more serious tone. "Not around me but I hear her speakin' to Pa in whispers. She keeps talkin' about something bad in the papers."_

"_Oh, that." Uncle Abe's happy face had become crestfallen and he looked away from Donny for a minute._

"_Uncle Abe, who's Leo Frank?" Donny asked. "And how come it makes Ma so upset?"_

_Abe glanced back at Donny and heaved a deep sigh. "Well, I suppose you're old enough to know the truth." He scooted his chair closer to Donny so Mama Rose Donowitz wouldn't overhear the conversation. _

"_Leo Frank was a Jewish man who owned a pencil factory down in Georgia. Some angry townspeople had him hanged from a tree two weeks ago."_

_Donny's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Really? Why?"_

"_The body of a dead girl was found in the basement of his factory," Uncle Abe explained. "Some people thought Frank murdered her."_

"_Well, he didn't—did he?" Donny asked in a deep breath._

_Abe leaned back in his chair. "To be honest I don't know. The police didn't find enough proof to sentence him to death so they put him in prison for life. But these angry people wanted the Jew's blood. So they broke into the city jail, took him out into the forest, and—"_

"_Abraham!" Donny's mother interrupted with a cry._

_Rose Donowitz, heavy-bosomed and round-shouldered from bearing three strong children, strode into the room with an armful of clean linen. "Don't tell me you're telling Donny about that terrible Atlanta case!"_

_Abe dramatically lifted one eyebrow up. "All right, Rose. What exactly am I telling him other than the truth?"_

_Mama Rose Donowitz had no proper answer to his questions. She just groaned and shook her head. "It's the end of the world, I tell you both. What tzaros! Poor Leo Frank! You know he had a wife he left behind, the poor woman."_

_She continued to rant while bustling around the room. "I didn't leave Russia for this meshuginah. In the shtetl some people were always making our lives miserable: burning our houses, chasing us into the streets. But in America? I get on a boat and go thousands of miles away from my family, I come to New York and slave away in a sweatshop, I get on a train and come to Boston-and for what? For this madness?"_

_Without waiting for an answer, she snatched up Donny's bowl of cold soup and bustled off to the kitchen._

_Donny tugged on Uncle Abe's sleeve urgently. "They're not going to start a pogrom in Georgia, are they Uncle Abe?" he whispered fiercely. _

"_I doubt it," Abe assured him._

_Mama Donowitz had returned in a flash. She was brandishing a spoon and a big glass bottle of something in a foul muddy brown color. "__Donny, it's time to take your medicine." _

"_Aw Ma, do I have to?" Donny complained._

"_If you don't want to roll around in the graveyard. Heaven forbid that my children should meet such a terrible fate!" she exclaimed as she filled up a tablespoon of the sticky syrup. "Now bottoms up."_

"_Ick!" Donny gagged. Nevertheless, he pinched his nose with his fingers and obediently swallowed the horrible stuff. As soon as his mother left the room he made several gagging expressions._

"_Medicine. Horrible stuff," Uncle Abe nodded in sympathy. "You're lucky your mother doesn't smear you chest with mustard paste like mine did. Your Pa and I would itch and stink for days afterwards." _

"Blech_," Donny made a face. He picked up the jar of Vick's Vapor Rub that lay on the window sill and began to unbutton his nightshirt. "Ma said this stuff will help me breath better but it's freezing cold sometimes. Say Uncle Abe, when am I gonna get hair on my chest?"_

"_I'd say around the time you're bar mitzvahed," Abe suggested._

"_Seven years? Awww!" Donny muttered. Nevertheless, he scooped up some of the gray-colored gel with his fingers and began smearing on his smooth pale chest. He was envious of his father and uncle who sported tuffs of hair on their chests and shaved their chins smooth with shiny razors every day. Donny couldn't wait until he was old enough to have that privilege, let alone be ready to work in the barbershop full afternoons instead of running little errands from time to time. _

"_Yes, medicine," Abe nodded. "At least doctors know better than to saw your bones off at the first sight of blood. But ah, we got off topic for a moment." He rubbed his temples in thought. "What were we talking about?"_

"_Leo Frank," Donny insisted. He had finished smearing his chest with Vick's Vapor Rub and gone back to his peppermint stick. "It just ain't fair, Uncle Abe."_

"_You're right, Donny. It isn't fair."_

"_Uncle Abe?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Why don't we have miracles nowadays? Somethin' to stop bad guys from lynchin' Jews?"_

_"We can't afford them, Donny."_

"_You can. You're getting good money from sellin' clothes, aren't you?" Donny shot back._

_Abe chuckled in good nature. "Good enough, thank God for that. But you can't buy a miracle in a store, Donny. Could you imagine going up to the man at the cash register and saying, 'I'd like one miracle, a very large one with lots of extra wind and clouds, and could you wrap it up and tie it with string to go? Thank you very much and have a nice day'."_

_Donny sucked on his peppermint some more. A crack of thunder was heard from outside. Ten minutes later, the door closed and his friend Nathan Straus stalked in along with four other boys._

"_Rain! I hate it!" Nathan said. He snatched his wet cap off his head and smacked it against his thigh, sending a shower of raindrops onto the carpet. "Hey Mrs. Donowitz! Can we play cards with Donny right here in the parlor?"_

_She responded by shaking a finger in Nathan's face. "I'll have no rowdy rabbles going on in this home while the twins are sleeping. Things had better be quiet for the next two hours." Then she turned on Donny. "__And as for you, Mr. Donowitz, you're not getting off that sofa for the rest of the afternoon."_

"_Aw, Ma!" Donny groaned. _

"_Don't you 'Aw Ma!" me, young man! Imagine this, my firstborn son, thinking he can recover from the measles in just a few days. Who's the babaluste around here? That's right, it's Mama Rose who knows exactly what to do. Your father may run his barbershop but in this house, I make the rules..." Mama Donowitz's monologue continued as she drifted out f the room again and went to check on the twins in the back room._

_Nathan just flopped onto another chair and pulled a wad of damp cardboard cards out of his pocket. "Still wanna play poker?"_

"_Nah." Donny rolled up another wad of newspaper and tossed it into the rubbish bin. "Uncle Abe, do you know any good stories?"_

_"Tell us about the dybuk and how that demon got into a girl's head!" Nathan hollered._

_"Naw, I want to hear about the talking donkey who outsmarted the men of Chelm," Joshua insisted._

_Uncle Abe's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Did I ever tell you boys about the Golem of Prague?"_

"_No! Who was he?" Nathan asked as he carelessly tossed the cards aside. "A ghost?"_

"_Oh no no, the Golem was a man. Well, more than that: a man from another world," Uncle Abe nodded knowingly. With a wave of his hands and a change in the tone of his voice, he began to tell the boys the legend of the Golem. _

_Outside, the rain poured down in sheets and the sky flashed with so much lightning that the boys blinked from time to time. But they sat transfixed in their spots, their eyes wide and mesmerized by the story. Even Mama Rose Donowitz had time to dry her hands on a towel and lean in the doorway, listening to Abe's tale. He spoke with great animation, his arms waving madly in the air and his voice rising to a feverish pitch as he told them the story of lore. _

_He spoke of the tiny ghetto in Prague and how the Jews trembled in fear whenever a blood liable ran among the streets of people who hated them. At night the heavy gates of their ghetto were locked up and danger still lurked upon the stone-cold steps when the slightest accusation-a single ember of malevolence-could smolder and burst into flames of hatred and danger. _

_Abe told them about the great sage named Rabbi Judah Lowe, a master of the ancient spiritual mysticism of Kaballah. Using the four elements of fire, water, earth, and air along with the power of Kaballah, Rabbi Judah Loew and his disciples sculpted a man out of clay from the earth and breathed him to life with the breath of a soul._

_The heavy lumbering creature could move like a man but he had no voice at all. He was a silent giant simply named "Joseph" who fulfilled the Rabbi's request whenever it was needed. Neither fiery torches, sharp swords, heavy stones, nor freezing streams could destroy the Golem. Every time someone rose up against the Jews of Prague, the silent Joseph sent them running away in fear. And when things became better and Joseph was no longer needed to protect them, Rabbi Lowe took him up to an attic and erased the sacred name that had been etched into the Golem's forehead. The mighty giant turned from flesh and blood back into clay again, never to take form or shape ever again._

"_It was a bully of a great story even if Uncle Abe made it up," Donny thought to himself hours later when he snuggled under the blankets for the night. "Then again maybe he didn't."_

A-A-A

SOME MONTHS LATER

"_All aroun' the mulberry fence the monkey chased the weasel," Donny sang aloud._

_The words skipped along with Donny, his shoes making cheerful scrunching sounds in the gravel as he sprinted down the street. His arms were starting to ache from carrying the stack of newspapers he'd be delivering to his father's barbershop but he didn't dare put them on the ground. It was a privilege to run errands for his father and the last thing he'd want to do is botch up the job._

"_The monkey stopped t'pull up his sock and 'pop' goes the weasel!" he finished happily, nimbly jumping over a pile of tin cans in the street. Scrunch-a-crunch, scrunch-a-crunch went the gravel underneath Donny's shoes._

"_Hey, you! Jew boy!"_

_The comment caused Donny to skid to a stop, a cloud of dust whirling up at his ankles. He looked up to see two larger boys approaching him from out an alleyway. Both of them were bigger and older than Donny; they sported street caps and were clutching two heavy bundles of newspapers in each hand. He recognized them as the professional Newsies and secretly wished he was old enough to sell papers on a street corner every morning so he could buy all the baseball cards and chewing gum he wanted._

_One of them dropped his papers and walked right up to Donny. He stopped when their faces were barely an inch apart and demanded, "You gotta nickel in those pockets, kid?" His breath reeked of cigarettes when he breathed out.  
_

_Donny shook his head. "No, I—"_

_He was caught off guard when the Newsie gave him a hard shove, causing Donny to topple back onto the ground. He was more startled than scared when his back slammed against the pavement and he nearly bounced twice before coming to a stop. Donny lifted his head up to see what damage had been done. The papers were scattered all around him in a mess and he had skinned palms but overall, his pride had been damaged far more than his body._

_The Newsie guffawed with laughter as if kicking smaller boys down was the highlight of the day. "How'd ya like that, little kike?"_

_He expected Donny to scramble backwards, pick himself up, and retreat by running away as fast as he could with his tail between his legs. But to the Newsie's surprise, Donny remained with his ass on the ground and fists balled up tightly. Then slowly, carefully, he forced himself back up to his feet and dusted off his pants. _

_Even at his young tender age, the fierce Donowitz pride was beginning to stir within him and struggle to get out. Donny could feel it throbbing inside his chest and pumping energy into his arms and legs. He glared back at his accusers with blazing eyes and clenched teeth. He was angry—no, he was furious! Furious at the Newsies, furious at the Cossacks who chased his mother out of her country, and fuming at those men who had hung a Jew from a tree just because he was a Jew. _

"_Leo Frank, Leo Frank," the words swirled around him with the dust clouds. "Oh-Le-oh Frank, Le-oh..."_

_One by one, Donny's fingers swiftly curled up into the palm of his small hand until he had made a tight fist; just the way Uncle Abe said to do it. _

"_Aw, ya gonna take another hit?" the Newsie jeered. "Little snot-faced Jew boy is askin' fer—"_

_CRACK!_

_Donny's arm struck out just like he was pitching a baseball and his fist collided with the Newsie's face. The attack was so quick that Donny hardly knew what he had done until his fist came back, vibrating from the impact and throbbing with pain. The Newsie had cowered back and covered his face with his hands. _

"_My eye! My fucking eye, ow!" he shouted. All Donny could see was a red welt swelling up on the side of his face. The Newsie whirled on his silent partner. "Do somethin', Joey! Fix that brat!"_

_But Joey, instead of standing up for his pal, took one look at the little kid who had both fists up in front of his face and looked ready to strike again. Joey gulped nervously, turned on heel, and began running in the opposite direction. The Newsie hobbled after him, hands over his eye and still cursing to the sky. _

"_Yeah, chickens! Run back home ya chickens!" Donny yelled after them in delight. He began flapping his arms against his sides like crazy clown, elated at his recent triumph over two bullies. "Buck-a-buck-awah! Buck-a-buck-awah!" he laughed and clucked._

_The self-served celebration could have gone on another ten minutes-just wait until he told Nathan about this-but Donny realized he'd be late for the barbershop. He got to his knees and scrambled to gather the scattered newspapers together into some form of a clumsy stack. A few had been wrecked for good but most of them were in fair condition. Donny hauled the papers back over his shoulder, gave a sharp tug of his cap, and spit twice into the gutter for good luck. Then he set off for his destination feeling two feet taller and ten years older._

_"All about the mullbery fence the monkey chased the weasel," he sang again._

A-A-A

1920

"_We're having company over for dinner tonight and you had to pick another fight!" _

_Mama Donowitz would have scolded her son had she not kissed him on both cheeks out of gratitude that he was still alive. Notwithstanding torn pants and a bruise on his left cheek, Donny looked fine. His mother would have chewed him out again for getting into these alley scraps with his friends but there wasn't enough time for scolding. She ushered him into the washroom and ordered him to clean up before Sabbath began._

"_So what? Uncle Abe's come over for dinner before a million times!" Donny insisted._

"_It's not just Abraham for tonight. We're having the rabbi over," his mother informed him._

_Donny made a face while he unfastened his suspenders and began to roll up his sleeves. "He's boring, Ma! All he does is blabber about his problems all the time."_

"_So do you," his mother chided him. She banged on the side of her cooking pot with a spoon. "But Rabbi Zakov isn't coming tonight. We're having that new rabbi and his wife that just moved here from Chicago. Now wash up and put on your good shirt and new tie, the ones Abe got you for Passover."_

_Donny put his nose to the air and inhaled deeply. Nobody made chicken soup like his mother; the soothing fragrance of broth and vegetables with matzo balls that were light as a feather. Deborah and Noah, the toddler twins, would be puttering around on the floor with their toys but by 7 o'clock they'd be fast asleep in the bedroom. That meant Donny had the privilege to take his meals with the adults (and maybe even having a drop or two of schnapps when his father made a toast) so he knew better than to botch up the evening. He quickly finished scrambling out of his clothes before scrubbing his face, hands, and neck squeaky clean._

"_You'll have not a bite to eat unless you hurry up," Mama Donowitz reminded him. Nevertheless, the sternness had gone out of her voice and there was a good-natured twinkle in her eye._

_By the time 7 o'clock rolled around, Donny looked like the splitting image of a poster child despite the bruised mark beside his left temple. His thick dark hair was nicely combed flat against his scalp, the maroon tie was offset with a starched white collar, and Uncle Abe had given him a few drops of cologne to splash on his cheeks. Donny was adjusting his collar in the mirror when he heard the tapping sound on the door. _

_"I'll get it!" he yelled, nearly barreling into his father before racing to the front door and opening it up for their guests. His dark brown eyes shrewdly assessed the young man and woman who stood in the foyer. _

_Rabbi Benjamin Markus was possibly in his early 30's; a rookie by traditional standards. Instead of the flowing gray beard of an elderly wizard, his face sported a black beard and mustache that were neatly-trimmed against a firm-jawed face. His eyes were calm and steady behind steel-rimmed glasses as they went straight down to meet Donny's surprised face. Beside him, the woman in a pale blue dress and bell-shaped hat smiled shyly._

"_You're too young to be a rabbi," Donny declared at once._

_The guest laughed, causing a gold tooth to glimmer in the back of his mouth. "Thank you for the flattery," he nodded._

"_Manners, manners!" Sy Donowitz insisted as he swept forward and ushered them into the house. "Gut Shabbos and welcome to our home! We're glad to have you join our community."_

"_My wife and I appreciate your hospitality," Rabbi Markus nodded. He and his wife Naomi were introduced to the rest of the Donowitz family and Uncle Abe._

_Instead of gushing over Donny and calling him a "cute little boy" and thereby severing any hopes of befriend him, Naomi took one look at Donny and said "How do you do, young man?" before complimenting his good looks which clearly ran in the family. _

_Dinner was a hearty event and Rabbi Markus and his wife were interesting people. Donny found out the gold tooth was a memento from a boiler room incident gone wrong ("I was a bit of a risk taker in my youth", Rabbi Markus had said) and Naomi Markus was a gracious woman with a surprising tasteful eye for fashion._

"_What do you think about this Prohibition Law?" Sy asked Rabbi Markus._

"_It's a strong motivator to get people off bad drinking habits but it appears to be causing more harm than good," Rabbi Markus answered after tasting his soup. "People are still drinking even after the 18__th__ amendment came out but now they're doing it under the table."_

"_That's why we had to leave Chicago," Naomi put in a word. "It wasn't safe after several arrests and rackets from illegal breweries in the neighborhood."_

"_Ya mean the cops'll lock up anyone with moonshine on their hands?" Donny asked._

_Rabbi Markus nodded. "I heard there was some trouble in Tennessee mountains from bootleggers running secret businesses. Some people continue to press the local sheriffs for harsh actions but the violence keeps getting worse. Hanging those criminals doesn't stop the underground drinking. If anything, the demand for liquor goes up."_

"_So long as they don't schlep us into any problems," Abe said. "Four men tried to threaten me last week outside my store and I told them off before I'd call the police on them. Last time they'd try to build a brewery in __**my**__ basement!" he added with a fist on the table._

"_What'd you do if they didn't go away?" Donny asked._

"_I'd come over and we'd give them all a good knuckle sandwich," Sy insisted. He and his brother exchanged knowing looks._

"_Oh Sy," Rose Donowitz shook her head. "The last thing we need is another war on our hands."_

"_Nu, shouldn't a man defend his family, his honor, and his business?" Sy insisted."You know the saying, '_Me darf leben un lozen leben.' _We should, 'Live and let live' as the good book says!"_

"_That's no excuse for bad behavior," Rose insisted. _

"_Rabbi Markus, what d'you think?" Donny put in. All eyes turned to the young but scholarly man who had been thrust into the spotlight. He took a sip of tea to clear his throat._

"_As a rule of thumb I don't approve of violence or destructive behavior." Rabbi Markus hesitated before he continued to speak slowly. "However, in light of recent events, I do believe we need to defend ourselves against outside threats. Naomi's relatives in Europe were treated terribly during the Great War and I hope to learn a lesson for the future."_

"_Like what?"_

"_I have an appointment to meet with the mayor of Boston and the police commissioner this week," Rabbi Markus informed the Donowitzs. "The Jewish community not be able to predict where acts of violence will occur next but I intend to put together a strong case stating our needs to protect ourselves as lawful citizens of this country. We may 'live and let live," he nodded respectfully to Abe, "But we cannot live our lives in endless fear."_

_Everyone thought it was a good idea._

"_Did you hurt yourself?" Naomi asked Donny gently when she noticed the bruise on his face._

"_That? Nah, I've had worse," Donny assured her with confidence. "Just me and Nathan and a coupla' guys got rough with the Italians on Tuesday."_

"_What happened?"_

_Donny just ripped his piece of bread in half and dunked it into his soup bowl. "Nuthin' too bad. We fight, we patch it up, and we go home in the end."_

"_I hope it's nothing serious," Rabbi Markus said._

"_Who, us? Nah, Al Contelli and me know our place on the turf," Donny assured him. "This ain't like those guys in the papers. They know if they kick us outta the park for good then they've got no one good t'fight with. So they know t'draw the line somewhere an' everyone gets a piece of the action. Ya know what Al told me the other day?"  
_

_"No, what?"_

_"He said, 'Donny, ya'd better stay in Boston for the rest of your life. 'Cuz you're worth five of my boys and I'll be damn bored if you skip out of town and leave me with no one to face off with."_

"_So that is the difference between the 'New Country' and the 'Old Country'," Rabbi Markus murmured while running a hand over his beard. "If someone hits a Jew in America then the Jew hits back."_

A-A-A

"Rabbi Markus said that?" Ruth laughed in disbelief. She and Donny were sitting on a park bench and resting their feet while sipping bottles of cream soda.

"What's so funny 'bout it?" Donny retorted.

She shook her head. "He always struck me as the quiet leader. How many times do people complain to Rabbi Markus about what he's doing wrong with his job and he just brushes it off and moves onto his next task?"

"That's 'cuz Rabbi Markus doesn't give two bits to what people think of him but he'll march all the way to the mayor's office if somethin' needs fixing." Donny tipped his head back to take another long swing of soda while his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

A-A-A

1924

_The summer sun was blazing hot above his head but Donny was entranced by the sights and sensations that surrounded him. He adjusted his straw hat to keep the scorching rays out of his face and continued skipping down the boardwalk. It was a busy day with parents, children, friends, and family crowded together while moving with the flow of traffic in and out of the amusement park._

_Coney Island! Donny was over the moon to be standing in the middle of the bustling New York landmark. This place was Candyland, the Emerald City, and Toy City all rolled into one. It was nothing like he had ever seen before in Boston: the screeching sound of rubber tires, the clickety-clack of a wooden trolley, the tickling aroma of roasted peanuts, and the salty brine of the ocean…all in a perfect summer day._

_Donny had been true to his word about doing his chores and staying out of trouble for two weeks (it helped that Rabbi Markus kept him and the Straus kids preoccupied with carpentry jobs) until his mother consented to letting him have a day out with Uncle Abe as an extra-early bar mitzvah present. "There's no point in waiting for a November birthday when Coney Island comes to life in July," Uncle Abe had said at the time. And since all the newspapers arrived at the barbershop in neat stacks and the floor had been swept tidy for months now, Mama Rose Donowitz consented. _

_Uncle Abe had taken Donny to New York for the day and it was worth the long weary train ride from Massachusetts just to see this. Donny had been hopping from one booth to another, eyes bright with glee and delight at the fascinations around them. They had ridden the enormous carousal with a lively organ playing away, seen the bizarre side show, swung balls at milk bottles to win a prize, eaten foot longs and taffy apples, and were now walking up and down the boardwalk among the throngs of other people._

"_Boy, thanks a million Uncle Abe!" Donny grinned through a mouthful of cracker jack. _

"_And it's getting better," Abe nodded. He pointed to a throng of men gathered around one corner of the amusement park. "Let's go see what it is."_

"_Okay!" _

_It was a rag-tag fist fight with two men standing in a makeshift ring—just a circle drawn with chalk around the pavement. People were crammed against each other; placing bets, clapping their hands, shouting and whistling with gusto and glee. _

"_Come on! Come on!" Uncle Abe shouted, shaking a fist with delight. "Knock him down!"_

"_Go left!" Donny yelled, though his voice was being drowned out by the crowd._

_Finally, one man swung and hit the other in the chest. His opponent gasped for breath and doubled over, falling to the ground in defeat. The victor raised his hand in triumph while the crowd applauded for joy. Donny cheered and whooped along with the crowd._

"_Not bad," Abe shrugged. "But he should've tried an upper cut before the last round."_

_The victor of the fight punch must have heard this because he turned on Uncle Abe and said to him, "Who's talkin' to Jerry the Giant? Wazzit you, Pops?"_

_Abe shrugged his shoulders and smiled at him. "I'm just saying you'd better count your-"_

"_Say it up here, old man!" Jerry the Giant roared. And before Donny knew it, men were cheering Uncle Abe on as he removed his outer jacket and stepped into the ring._

"_Watch me and see how it's done," Abe called to Donny over his shoulder before fearlessly taking his position._

_Donny sucked in a sharp breath and watched his uncle and Jerry cautiously circle each other. Lately he had become a little uneasy about Uncle Abe. To be fair, he didn't talk about his chest pains anymore, but Uncle Abe would retract a step backwards and wince to cover up any concerns that his nephew may have about his health. But today he threw back his head and took his position with proud confidence. _

_Jerry was nimbly hopping from foot to foot in anticipation of an opening while Abe carefully circled his opponent, looking for a weak spot. Donny noticed that while Jerry was much younger and more lithe of the two men, Uncle Abe had a lot more muscle and meat built onto his body. His biceps bulged and his chest flexed from underneath his wife beater while a thick inch of flesh hung over the waistband of his pants. _

_Jerry struck first with a fist to the face but in lightning speed, Uncle Abe had caught Jerry's hand with an open palm. The crowd "oooohed" with surprise. Then with a big sweep of his other hand, Uncle Abe slammed into Jerry's chest, causing the younger man to not only collapse backwards, but summersault all the way before coming to a stop._

_By the time Jerry had gotten his head right side up again, he was on his knees and rubbing his forehead in a daze. Donny bit his tongue and waited for Jerry to charge again._

_Much to everyone's surprise, Jerry just picked himself up and laughed. "You're all right, old man," he said to Abe with an open palm. "Drinks on me!"_

_With a nod of agreement, Abe walked with Jerry out of the ring and introduced him to his favorite nephew._

A-A-A

"Sounds like everything turned out all right," Ruth smiled.

"Best day of my life," Donny admitted. "For a while."

A-A-A

"_Donny? Could you come up here please?"_

_It was two weeks after his bar mitzvah and the boys were busy with their card game in the synagogue basement. For once Donny and his pals were playing quietly instead of getting into reckless trouble so he couldn't imagine why Rabbi Markus would summon him upstairs for a gentle but firm lecture. Nevertheless, he dropped his cards and dashed up the stairs to meet Rabbi Markus with a half-grin of expectations. _

_But when Rabbi Markus shut the basement door and ushered Donny into his office, the young man noticed the lack of warmth and approval in his mentor's face. Donny tried to keep his voice perky as usual but even he could feel the heaviness of the situation in the air like a thick cloud descending around them. _

"_What's up, Rabbi? We haven't messed with Ol' Man Staltz's chickens for a while now." _

_Rabbi Markus removed his glasses—a surefire sign of coping with adversity—and wiped them on his jacket. "I don't know how else to tell you this Donny and I am sorry to be the one to do it." He took a deep breath and put the glasses back on his face._

"_Doctor Cohen just telephoned me. He said there was an emergency with Abraham Donowitz."  
_

_If fighting street boys and riding a huge roller coaster on Coney Island didn't scare Donny then he sure as hell didn't know why his throat had suddenly tightened up painfully upon hearing the rabbi talk with such severity in his voice. Nevertheless, he tried to keep a poker face._

"_Uncle Abe? He's gonna be fine ain't he?" Donny strained to keep his voice calm. "He was at my bar mitzvah last week and said he never felt better-"_

"_He just suffered another heart attack. A fatal one."_

_The words dropped like heavy weights and sank into Donny's stomach. His heart had begun thudding away madly with an echo that vibrated in his ears. But how could this be happening to him? Uncle Abe must be playing some crazy joke on the kids, right?  
_

_Rabbi Markus watched the young man grip the edge of a chair as his knuckles turned white from the tight grip. "How's he feelin' now?" Donny asked in a low chocked-up voice._

_Rabbi Markus' eyes betrayed the answer even before he spoke the words. Donny knew the truth even before Rabbi Markus walked up to him and with a mixture of sorrow and compassion, he placed both hands on the boy's shoulders and looked him in the eyes._

"_I'm sorry, Donny. Your uncle died this afternoon."_

A-A-A

It was getting chilly outside and now Donny could feel his ears hardening from the cold wind that whistled around them. He pushed open the wrought iron gate and ushered Ruth inside the cemetery. Though the sun was dipping behind the trees out this hour, he could still make out the inscriptions of the tombstones as they walked past lines of smooth gray shapes and let the wind ripple through the grass.

"This way," he motioned to her. Taking Ruth by the hand, Donny led her to a shady place in one corner of the cemetery. This was a sacred place of protected ground for the bodies of once-loved people. Hardly another person was around for a mile and with only a few birds chirping faintly in the trees, the atmosphere of these resting grounds was oddly serene and tranquil.

Finally, Donny stopped in front of a simple gray marker. Under the Hebrew prayer inscription and the etched Star of David was a simple message:

_In memory of Abraham Boaz Donowitz, Z"L_

_August 19__th__, 1868 –November 21__st__, 1924_

_May his name be remembered as a blessing_

A-A-A

_A single white candle flickered in the hallway where guests came to pay a visit to Donny's father. Sy Donowitz was sitting on a low stool in the parlor room for shivah, the seven days of mourning, while people had come to pay their respects to the household. _

_Rabbi Markus had arrived nearly every day of shivah to make sure the Donowitz's had everything they needed. The first person he saw was Rose Donowitz, who would break down into tears and weep at the mention of her good brother-in-law. "A real mentsch," she said as she kept dabbing her reddened eyes with a handkerchief. "Ever since I married Sy, Abraham treated me like a sister."_

_Sy, on the other hand, was stubborn in his family's traditional nature. Donowitzs __**never**__ cried, not even at funerals. But when Donny had been at the Jewish cemetery and watched his father shovel some dirt over the simple wooden coffin, he could see the glimmer of moisture that brimmed up in his father's eyes. Sy's voice trembled a bit but he managed to say the prayer of Kaddish aloud word-for-word in perfect memorization for his deceased brother. _

_"Yitkadal v'yitkadash, Sh'mai Rabbah," he chanted as he looked down at newly-finished grave._

_"Amen," everyone answered in a thundering chorus, including Donny. Then it was time for the eulogy._

"_Abraham was more than my brother. He was my kindred spirit," Sy had announced to the crowd in the cemetery. "Ever since our parents passed away, it was Abe who looked after me and got me to my feet whenever I felt down. He helped me with my first business, my family, and my life. And whenever danger threatened our community, Abe was always there to stand up and make things right. He greeted every day with a smile and-" _

_Sy took a moment to breathe in and pull himself together. "And to Abe, every Jewish person was considered a part of his family."_

_Donny still felt as if there was a big hole inside him where someone had punched an iron fist through his stomach. But who could he__ yell at to come down and challenge a fight for Abe's life back? No one._

_Donny shook his head in disbelief and looked down into the grave. __One day Uncle Abe was walking among them, a happy hearty human being of flesh and blood. Now he was lying in the ground, alone and cold, in a box of pine wood. He was beginning to realize how difficult and unpredictable life could be and somehow-for reasons he couldn't explain-it scared him to the bones. There were forces beyond those of humanity that could invade your life and claw out your happiness with cold icy fingers. And all the yelling and shouting and punching just wouldn't do you any good. Abraham Donowitz was gone and there was not a single thing he could do to bring his uncle back._

"_Donny? What are you doing in here?"_

_He snapped out of his mental daze to see Rabbi Markus in the doorway holding his black fedora in one hand. Donny realized he had been trying to teach card tricks to the twins for the last half-hour but they had quietly retreated back into the bedroom to avoid the faces of visitors. The baby of the family, little Tzirel Donowitz, was still sitting on the kitchen floor and babbling away while she tugged on Donny's pant leg._

"_Ma said to keep the kids out of the way 'til Pop is done with shivah," he confessed. And with that, Donny picked up the 2-year-old and placed her on his lap. Tzirel thrust her chubby fingers into her mouth and began to suck away happily while Donny bounced her slightly on his knee. _

_Rabbi Markus drew up a kitchen chair and sat down. "That's very mature of you. I'm sure your mother appreciates it."_

"_Well, it must not be easy for Pops," Donny muttered while glancing at the floor._

_Rabbi Markus studied the boy in front of him. He looked far less prankster and more grown-up , though it could be from the solemnity of the shivah or just the natural elements of turning 13 years old. Either way, Donny was certainly becoming a man. He was already taller than his mother and sported a faint shadow of dark hair on his upper lip from neglecting to shave that morning. His arms were getting firm with muscles and even his face had become longer and more defined._

"_And how are you?" Rabbi Markus asked him._

_Donny placed Cyril on the floor and watched her blissfully plod of into the next room. Then he turned to Rabbi Markus and jerked his head down with frustration. "I feel lousy. It just ain't fair. How could Uncle Abe just leave us like that?"_

"_Donny, nobody knows when their time comes. Not even Abraham could have known this even if he didn't have chest pains."_

"_Well, it just stinks big time." He brought a fist down onto the table with a heavy thud. "And ya know what stinks the most? I can't do nothin' or fight anyone to bring him back!"_

"_Perhaps that's a good thing," Rabbi Markus suggested gently._

_ His quizzical answer caused Donny whirl on him. "What d'you mean?"  
_

"_Your uncle was a fine man, Donny. He had far more friends than enemies and he lived a meaningful life," Rabbi Markus explained gently. "Don't you see? Nobody tried to harass him, nobody caused his death. No pogroms, no lynchings. His life ended peacefully in his bed when he was surrounded with people who cared about him."_

_Donny chewed this thought over in his head for a minute. "I guess so," he admitted at last. "But it still smarts in here." He rubbed his chest with an open palm. "This ever gonna go away?"_

"_I wish I could say it does," Rabbi Markus admitted. "But it will have to heal on its own. Just give it time, Donny. What makes you hurt inside means you're remembering what matters to you. And that's never a bad thing at all."_

_They sat there quietly for a few minutes while listening to the murmurs of guests in the parlor room. Then Donny turned back to Rabbi Markus._

"_Hey rabbi?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_You think there's baseball in Heaven?"_

"_I wouldn't know. I've never been there."_

"_Heh." Donny could feel his edge coming back. "Heaven had better be a damn fine place if Abe left us to go there."_

"_It must be," Rabbi Markus nodded. _

_This last thought left Donny mulling in thought. Yeah, there was baseball in Heaven. And Coney Island. And peppermint sticks, comic books, pretty girls, and no one ever messed with you. _

"_All right, Uncle Abe. I guess you deserved a break after stickin' around us for so long," Donny said aloud. This personal philosophy was enough to satisfy his impatient adolescent soul...at least for the time being.  
_

_A-A-A_

Donny reached down to the ground and picked up a single pebble. Smooth, round, and gray-colored, it was a tiny piece of respect adding to the foundation of the tombstone. He walked up to the heavy marker and carefully laid the pebble on top.

"Thanks for everything, Uncle Abe. Hope Heaven's treatin' you aright," he said aloud. "I still remember watcha used to say in Yiddish: _Dos leben iz di gresteh metsieh, men krigt es umzist_. Life's the best bargain. Ya get it for nothin'."

He gestured for Ruth to take a step forward. "You know Shapiro's Diner? This is his girl—my wife. My Baby Ruth and I, we're doin' all right. Wish you could've been there at our wedding."

"Who's to say he wasn't?" Ruth asked, pointing a finger skyward. Then she turned her head back to the tombstone. "You have a great nephew, Abraham. I can tell where he got his attitude from."

This was sufficient for Donny, who turned up the collar of his jacket to protect his neck from the biting cold. "C'mon. Let's go home," he said at last. He glanced once over his shoulder at the tombstone. "G'night, Uncle Abe. We'll visit again soon."

They retraced their steps out of the cemetery and shut the iron gate behind them. On the way back to their apartment, street lights gradually flickered to life as people hurried from work into the safety of their homes. The last few glimmers of the sun had become faint orange glows in the distance. Now a dark but clear night sky stretched over their heads, sprinkled with stars and a slim disk of a silvery moon.

Ruth was lost in thought and blissfully enjoying the cool air in her lungs when she felt her husband's gloved hand encompass hers securely. Only the outline of his face was visible but the sound of his voice was a welcoming reassurance to her that some things—no matter the circumstances—would stay with them from one world to the next.

"Baby Ruth?"

"Yes?"

"Happy anniversary, kiddo."

"Happy anniversary, Donny."

Glossary:

_Tzaros_ – problems, woes

_Balabuste_ – woman of the house; the homemaker


End file.
